emptynesters | TEST DRIVE :003

Entry tags:

test drive

TEST DRIVE :003

WELCOME to the test drive and thank you for your interest in Station 72! To allow players to experiment with game mechanics, flexibility and to account for the fact that our TDMs tend to span a number of months to make up for our low player turnover, we've put together a game-themes random scenario generator for you to play with. Mix and match prompts at will, pick your own broodmates, experiment with abilities and specializations, talk to each other and maybe make up some pre-established CR, and generally play around however you like.

This test drive is not game canon, so take this chance to go nuts! Current in game players are also welcome to make top levels here and aren't beholden to their in-game characterizations (so if it makes more sense to be a broodmates of a character test driving, feel free to do so for the sake of these threads).

For the full experience, we strongly encourage players to write up a short blurb about what their fellow characters might know about them either through shared time on the Station or through the Nest mental link. Handy links can be found at the bottom of this entry if you have any questions and APPLICATIONS are always open if you decide you'd like to jump into the game proper. If you're having trouble coming up with a symbiote ability for your character for use in either the TDM or for your application, we have an ability workshop post located HERE.

(Mix and match these prompts at will to create your own TDM scenario - there's no obligation to use something from every category. Feel free to make up anything that isn't covered in the prompt if it lends to your playing.)

     THE PLACE

1. STATION 72 consists of massive, alien sprawl. While large sections of the Station might be mistaken for a Station manufactured for use by humanoid beings - the hangar is relatively standard other than its massive size, the Life Support deck with its series of living quarters seems normal enough (if you ignore the part where none of the rooms have doors on them), and there's even a Jai Alai court -, beyond the most well trod paths the Station quickly cedes to the utterly bizarre. Corridors twist and loop back in on themselves, great verandas overlook massive empty rooms, ramps because stairs which lead to dead ends. It's easy to get lost if you don't have a destination in mind. Strangely enough, if you do know where you want to be, the Station's twisting paths will eventually get you there as long as you keep your goal firmly in mind. Knowing that is another thing entirely.

2. THE MELTED WORLD was once beautiful. Then again, maybe it's always been a toughened old rock, but at some point the planet called Ojan was glassed in the throes of a brutal war. The planet's entire surface has become a twisted, mirror-like substance by whatever super hot biological weapon was poured into it. The material isn't actually that horrible, consuming black; it perfectly reflects the empty, quiet space that surrounds Ojan: a foreboding testament to a war long forgotten. But what lies below the surface of the desolated world?

3. THE SCEPTRE is a fabulous building structure suspended from an asteroid in orbit around a planet. The Sceptre pierces down through the atmosphere of the planet below and over the course of the asteroid's orbit, The Sceptre has an opportunity to pass through every habitat and climate the world below it has to offer. The Sceptre is sleek and beautiful (or it is? Maybe it's fallen into disrepair and only ghosts remain) and its massive windows look out onto a varied, verdant world (or do they? What state is the planet below in, exactly? Has it been so thoroughly paved over that the atmosphere is the only place left to build?).

4. PENTARA PRIME is the ancient, meandering capital of the lush garden world of Pentara. Unlike most cities, it is a large, verdant sprawl, made up eighteen clustered centers - groups of low, elegant stone buildings, strung together by winding roads populated with quietly humming pods moving people from spoke to spoke. The capital is built around leisure, not production and there are far more gardens and orchards than there are buildings. The sun is heavy and low, and the air is still and buzzes with the sounds of fat-bodied insects. It’s so still, so calm. It seems empty and there is something unsettling in the quiet. --Or is it? Maybe it's bustling with energy, just as vibrant and delightful as it seems on the surface.

5. CHORIUS is not quite a planet. Not anymore. Once long ago it was, but over time it has changed - been stripped clean of every valuable mineral, every scrap of rare metal, and eventually even of atmosphere. The core has cooled perceptibly and now even its rotation period has slowed dramatically. Now it is a made up of shaped carbon and steel that bridge over the stripped surface of the planet, pulsing with energies, shielded from the harshness of the sun by a webbed dome that keeps the electric scented air from escaping into the space around it. Here nothing is wasted. Everything - everyone - is recycled and reconstituted into new forms. Every one of the cities changes daily, reformatted to meet new goals and new needs. It is a dead world filled with the living. But whether it is thriving or dying is hard to say - and what the newest change will bring with it is even more difficult to guess.

6. SPACE, THE FINAL FRONTIER. There's a lot of it in every direction.

     THE PEOPLE

1. THE OUTLANDERS consist of small bands of settlers and explorers who have quested out into the unknown, the remote, and the dessicated parts of this galaxy looking for either new opportunities or forgotten mysteries. They are mostly upright though only vaguely humanoid, remnants of a civilization driven from their own failing world, each group is bound only by their own codes and personal laws. They're traders and nomads, largely peaceful but wary of the harsh, dangerous environment and beings they've crossed paths with. Don't cross a deal with an Outlander - they'll make you regret it.

2. A VERITABLE MELTING POT, the beings of this metropolis are as vibrant and diverse as is imaginable. These are a people developed by a myriad of cultural influences, technological insights, overlapping interests and clashing societal norms shaken up and spit out into something that more or less works as long as there's a whole lot of bureaucracy to keep it in order. And boy is there a lot of that. Mind your p's and q's - someone might haul you in for questioning if you cause too much of an uproar.

3. A RUINED GHOST is all that remains of this ancient civilization. Once there were people here leading brilliant or lives, or quiet ones, but all that's left are their ruined structures, old half-functional consoles and signs of lives abruptly arrested. What destroyed these people is initially unclear, but their extinction appears to have been absolute. --Or was it?

4. THE COURT is elegant and beautiful and perfect. Every being is shrouded in delicate, gauzy fabrics layered so densely as to obscure their elongated squirming bodies from head to toe. Each step sounds like a bell ringing from the the small metal plates at the bottom of their soft slippers; every gloved finger glints with small golden threads. The queens sweep through their secret insect gardens and their royal technomancers walk the halls with the glitter of hologlyphs sparkling at their fingertips and in the wake of their sweeping robes.

5. THE GREAT MILITARY is larger even than it’s name suggests. Every member of their civilization plays some part in it, every person has a rank, every family an insignia. The structure is rigid and inflexible and all-encompassing, and it has made them into ferocious enemies. They have been at war for as long as they have been a people, and their battle will never end, because if it did, they would go with it. The harshness of their life is painted on the sharp planes of their grey faces, but there is an indomitability and a pride to them that is hidden by their stern, unchanging expressions.

6. SCUM ALWAYS LIVES at the edge of the universe. Beware the dark of the space and the seedier underbelly of cities or the shadows of forgotten planet - pirates make their living there and these are desperate times, friend.

     THE OBJECTIVE

1. GET UP from where you've fallen. Or get up from the nesting deck pod where you've just woken up on the Station. Or get up to Level 672 where there's a ship waiting for you. Or get up from the knee you've taken before this alien queen. Get up.

2. THE RESCUE might be saving a city from a disaster engineered by an enemy force, playing bodyguard for a government official, or liberating a rare artifact from a crumbling structure.

3. IT'S A RACE AGAINST TIME to collect the relic you've been sent to retrieve from the collapsing ruin. Or to make your way free of the military blockade. Or to make your escape from a crumbling world.

4. THE MASQUERADE is all a cover - for an assassination. For a heist. For a political coup.

5. INFILTRATE you know what you need. And you know who has it. With a little help you’ll be able to break into the place no one is supposed to go. You could sneak in… or smash in. Or maybe just talk your way past every little problem.

6. COME ON AND SLAM and welcome to the jam. It’s a ritual or maybe it’s just a pastime, but whichever it is there are rules and there is a goal. There’s probably even points. If you’re lucky, you just might score one. Avoid the spiky pits? Or maybe the thrown fruit. Or perhaps just the other team...

6. EXPLORE and uncover the secrets this place have to offer. There’s a mystery here if you know where to find it. And all you have to do is look.

7. DON'T DIE is easy to say and hard to do when you're under the guns of an armada. Or when you're trying to outwit spies. Or when the ground is literally crumbling under your feet.

     INSPIRATION

NAVIGATION • PREMISE • FAQ • RULES • GLOSSARY • APPLICATIONS • SYMBIOTIC SKILLS • ABILITY POINTS

( CODE BY WHAMBAM )

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

[ Sorry, Fotz, just the god of thunder. ]

I didn't, actually.

[ Thor knows full well that Fitz is referring to the abilities they were given as a welcoming gift. He's observed them in the other members of their company, but has unfortunately not uncovered his own. It stands to reason that the gift of a new power was to make up for the diminishing of his own, but even sight-unseen Thor finds it a poor trade. ]

Come. Give me the light.

[ There's a fifty-fifty chance that Thor can charge it's batter or implode it in his palm. Hope you like gambling, Fitz. ]

Edited (slaps romantic icon aside) 2017-12-07 15:44 (UTC)

[ It says a lot about the past couple of years that his first reaction to meeting Thor was professionalism instead of losing his fucking mind. That doesn't mean the fanboy portion of his brain is completely dead, but it does take a back burner to bigger issues. The apparent decimation of Earth and waking up with a symbiote and strange abilities counts as a bigger issue. ]

Do you know what it is?

[ Not mind reading, just an educated guess. It hadn't taken Fitz long to sort his out, but he's also more prone to panic attacks than the God of Thunder. Handing over the flashlight is a little iffy when he can't quite see who he's handing it to, made slightly easier by the fact that neither of them have moved much since the light went out. Still, just for clarity: ]

Here.

Edited 2017-12-07 19:23 (UTC)

[ Fear isn't a response Luv is unused to eliciting (or typically minds), but there's certain dull note in answer -- dimmed hope or regret or a small sort of sadness that perhaps there isn't potential for anything else; that even as closely linked as they all are now, she is immutably Other.

But they're talking about playing god. It isn't an abstract concept for Luv, either. It's a hand heavy on her shoulder. It's uncomprehending despair on the face of the woman standing a few feet in front of her as the blood she's only just come to understand as her own drains from her body. It's the feeling of being watched six inches from the right side of your face, don't flinch, don't flinch, don't flinch, and in the dark, it's harder to keep track of what is happening and what isn't. Her steps pause like she's looking back at him. ]

Can't you? [ The you is specific. External. Humanity. Replicants certainly aren't playing god. ]

'Playing god' brought the human race to nine worlds, in the universe I came from. Averted famine and overpopulation. Would you say that they shouldn't have?

[ He'd be able to guess at her isolation without the connection. With it, the small amount of guilt he'd felt for that flinch is a small echo chamber, empathetic if completely unproductive. Fitz doesn't shut it down so much as he turns away from it. If he really wants to dwell on it, he can do it when they aren't trapped in the dark.

He stops a second after she does. Normally he'd seek out her face, try to get a read on her expression. That isn't an option, and the way he instinctively reaches out with the link is completely unintentional. It used to be that wishing he knew how someone felt wasn't something he could act on — not this directly, anyway. It's uncomfortable and invasive, and the prickle of his confusion at the edge of her senses is quickly withdrawn. ]

The Prime Directive would've. [ The distinction's a weak defense. He'd clearly meant what he'd said a moment ago. But reality doesn't exist in a vacuum, and every decision impacts someone else. The definition of playing god exists on a slippery slope. ] I don't know. I couldn't just stand by if there was something I could fix, but—

[ Building life out of nothing isn't helping. He can't say that to her, for obvious reasons. Fitz pauses, as distracted by the heaviness of the topic as he is by having a conversation with someone he can't see. ]

Would you say they shouldn't have?

[ Her answer matters more than any of his bullshit philosophical takes. She's the one who exists because of someone "playing god", not him. ]

[ The transfer of the light it a little clumsier than Thor had intended. He ends up using the impression gleaned from Fitz's mind to make contact. Thor's mind tugs, the same way Thor would have tapped a shoulder to attract Sif's attention. ]

Come. Towards the wall.

[ He folds the device in his palms, rattling it a bit like dice while he tries to drum up an appropriate crackle of electricity. ]

I don't, actually, to answer your question. I've been told that means I should be patient and wait for it to show itself.

[ Though whatever else Thor has to say about his powers are eclipsed by the small explosion between his palms. RIP flashlight. ]

[ Using the connection is bizarre, but it's better than stumbling blindly in the dark. Fitz hands the flashlight over and waits expectantly, not entirely sure where this is going. Thor hits things; he doesn't do technology, or charge batteries.

Except for when he does, apparently. Fitz jumps at the sudden crack of light and noise, back hitting the wall and kicking up more dust. ] Shit—

[ Speaking of waiting for powers to show themselves. He can feel his trying to kick up in response to the surprise, like the distant tick of an old clock in the back of his head. ] Did you just blow up my flashlight.

[ He isn't trying to sound accusatory. Just an observation. ] Is that new?

It wasn't intentional.

[ Thor sounds annoyed. He turns his palms down and lets the remnants of the flashlight fall to the floor. He'd scatter them with his foot if he could. ]

Since I've arrived here, I've found my connection with the elements to be a bit...iffy.

[ Even as Thor explains, he second guesses himself. Perhaps he's in need of his hammer again. Is he lacking in focus now? Were the guardians who welcomed him mistaken in what they'd told him when he'd first slipped from his pod? ]

Well you're going to have to come up with a new motto.

[ Stick to the plan, Stan. That was the Gecko way. But it's quickly becoming clear that their way isn't always going to work, not when the game and all of its rules have changed — in a big anything-can-happen kind of way.

Kate steps back from the window, her arms hanging loosely against her sides as she faced Seth. ]

What part of this is easy? And how are we supposed to do that when we're not even sure about the exits?

[ She waves one of her hands, making a vague gesture toward the city waiting outside. The clock is ticking, but she wants to make sure there isn't something he knows that she doesn't. While she trusted him as her partner, they couldn't afford to be in disagreement. ]

"Uh-huh," says Darlene, unconvinced. There is a lot of shit looping back at her, but most clear is that this is something like normal for this guy. Guilt radiates back at her like heat off a mild sunburn. He feels guilty. Like, this whole scene is familiar enough that he feels like he's tracking mud on her brain, or vice versa.

So that's a thing. But there's plenty of old timers around here, he's probably one of them; this is probably nothing remarkable. Darlene exhales. Not close enough to blow smoke in his face, just in his direction.

"Got a more timely reference for me? I don't interact with radios on the daily."

She's just being a dick. She knows what radios are. She lifts one hand to echo his gesture, a circle in the air by her temple.

"Consider yourself turned down. You learn that trick here?"

Recently goes unsaid. The violence of yanking a cord out of the back of her head is an image that passes quickly across Darlene's mind. She does not reach back to touch the spot, but the echo of memory tingles there, immediately available whether she wants it or not.

Definitely not. But there'd be some small consolation in that: if K requires prying at, he's doing a lot better than he was before, stumbling and fumbling and broadcasting all his business around like the rest of the neonates. (That's twice now that he's been born, and still not really born at all.)

"Sometimes." He doesn't need to be touching the apparatus, but he is anyway—to look busy, to point his eyes at something other than the real living person standing over there. "This geoscience stuff's a little outside my wheelhouse." How many different display settings does this thing have? This many. Look, here's another one. "You?"

[He's been following her. Not a direct thing, or even necessarily conscious, these days. He's been following her the same way he follows Seth, a constant state of awareness, to be there if needed and otherwise allow for them to look after themselves.

It doesn't help that this place is outside their usual skillset. Thieves they might be, but their jobs had never gone so Indiana Jones - if that was even what they were here for. They don't know, and it grates, but he's been on enough of these missions now to accept mindless roaming around until the answer presents itself. But the place is eerie, empty in a way that even Richard finds unsettling, yet can see the beauty in. A world interrupted.

But he can recognise those words in Kate's mind, too. He's never had to reassure himself with them so explicitly, but they've applied. It draws him closer even if her fall hadn't, coming to a stop just in front of her. Silently offering his hand to help her up, not bothering to try and articulate the sense of understanding even as it rings from his mind.]

[ Seth's had to come up with plenty of new approaches. That isn't necessarily a bad thing, he just resents having to do it because of their outfit's inability to get their shit together. ]

Because I guarantee you that one of the idiots we dropped down here with is going to be a decoy.

[ Not on purpose, and yet. ]

We'll have enough time to find the exit.

[ Kate's right, it's not a good plan. It's definitely not going to be easy. But they can't discount the pack of amateurs they've been sent down here with. ]

Shit.

It isn't projected on purpose, but it's felt with enough enthusiasm that it isn't hard to catch. Small talk had seemed like a safe bet — it's what people do. Ask about jobs, the weather, your family. It's been so long since he's been in a position to attempt a semi-normal conversation that he's forgotten how severely ill-suited he is to answer any of that.

The good news is that K isn't great at it, either. He's awfully focused on the display, and David idly hopes he's so wrapped up in his own lame answer that he won't call out David's.

"No. I was in..." A psychiatric ward. He's not sure Summerland is a huge improvement, but there's an edge of honesty in his otherwise uncertain response. "Political activism."

A very, very loose interpretation of fighting against secret government groups purely to save his own ass, but it's at least in the right time zone. There's a flicker of memory, of human bodies decked out in military gear being thrown into walls, sharp and violent, rag dolls. It blinks out quickly.

"Nothing like this. I never even got out of New York."

[ Fitz listens to the sound of the flashlight's remains skittering across the stone floor, trying not to eavesdrop on the heavy doubt coming from Thor's corner of the dark hallway. ]

But you're still connected to them?

[ That's somehow more interesting than the 'iffy' part. They might not even be in the same universe, but Thor's still got some connection. Then again, Thor hadn't been from Earth in the first place. It tracks that he'd have some range.

They should keep moving. Fitz places a hand against the wall, trying to get a sense of the hallways around him so they can start their blind trek forward. His bemusement's clear in the connection. So is his hesitation, and he doesn't start off just yet. ]

Yes, fortunately.

[ Which can be taken to mean fortunately for the nest rather than fortunately for Thor, who doesn't want to be severed from the elements completely. He's already lost an eye, his ancestral home, and both his parents. He doesn't need to lose anything else in the shuffle. ]

But you're right, onwards we must go.

[ And thankfully, in the dark, no one can see that Thor attempted to clap Fitz on the shoulder and completely missed. ]

I'm sure there's a light down the hallway.

[ At which point he nearly steps on Fitz trying to go forward. Whoops. ]

[ Yeah, he's got a few billion questions about the eye. He's long since learned that manners trump his curiosity, though.

Or they usually do. Hard to say where he'll land on it if they stay stranded in the dark for much longer. They're both clumsy enough with the connection at this point that he doesn't get a read on Thor's embarrassingly failed gesture, or a warning when he nearly steps right into him — Fitz takes a quick step back, lightly elbowing the wall in the process. ] Right— go right.

[ Because that's slightly away from him, and he'd also seen the hallway ahead for about two seconds before the flashlight gave up. Enough to know it turns, at least. And, as soon as it seems like Thor's vaguely on track: ]

So. [ Small talk with the god of thunder?? ????? Start small. ] How's Asgard doing these days?

[[ ooc; Sam here would be a re-app coming in, and I already have his info post set up from before, so feel free to dig through that for an idea of what his brain space is like. ]]

[ A ] GOOD MORNING, STARSHINE;

[ Sam's mind comes back to his body in an explosion of mental storm, a cacophony of sound and thought and being. like the fire and smoke that billows out from the engines of a spaceship, a high functioning machine coming back online like breaking out of a cage. those that had been in the hive before, when castor was whole - any that had been unfortunate enough to be close to Sam while he did his hybrid thing - will remember this feeling acutely. those that weren't, well, sorry for the headache. sam's kind of loud.

immediately, it crumbles inward, even as he's reaching out - Jessica, Anakin, Ren, Steve, Ilde. he's only barely able to brush against one of them, and the emptiness in contrast is so, so cold. a cavern collapses in his chest, threatening to pull all of him in, under the current. pieces of his soul, broken or silent, and the pain of the four of them lost only echoing between one point and another - him and ilde, wherever she is in the universe. maybe not even close, even on the same ship. he clamors like a small, blind baby bird, hands slapping against the walls of his pod, reaching to the base of his skull, and letting out a sharp yelp as it pulls free. it takes an immense amount of effort to remember how to breathe, hand clutched against his chest, but sam's main focus is scrambling his way down the pod, until his bare feet brush the cool metal of the ladder. down he goes, half falling, half climbing, until he can peer into the other pods clustered around his.

Jessica, asleep, with all the knick knacks they'd planted around her, bottles of liquor in case she woke up thirsty, which they were sure she would. Steve, small and brittle seeming, but so strong and so brave, a beckon among them. Ren, with the dark hollows under his eyes, even in his sleep he still doesn't seem at peace. And the one left empty - Anakin. His death replayed in the back of their minds, every second of their waking hours, and in their dreams. ]

I'm sorry. [ Sam murmurs quietly, as he catches his breath, not sure if he's talking to them, to the hive, or to the only one of his family left. He'd gone under, and they'd lost all the rest of them while he was gone. ] Gods, I'm so, so sorry.

[ B ] PENTARA PRIME - INFILTRATE;

[ this world is impossibly beautiful, seemingly perfect, and sam hates it that it just can't frakking be true for once in a mission. of course there's something sketchy going on, because they wouldn't be here if there wasn't. ]

( When do you figure we'll get the galactic cruise ship mission where the problem is just an excess of alcohol that needs dealing with?) [ sam's broadcasting out from the ventilation shaft he's squirming his huge, basketball-rugby player body through, on his way to the server room for pentara prime's archival building. basically just talking to whoever's willing to listen, because he's sam anders and that's what he does. ]

( Or the Too Many Forever-Kittens world, where we just have to take a bunch back to the Station with us?) [ he wouldn't mind kittens. maybe if they were bowel functionless kittens. litter boxes don't seem great. anyway, back to that really important job he was up to. ] ( Any progress on those laser defenses, by the way? And just calling it now - I volunteer Pidge for next mission where we shove the tech into claustrophobic hamster death tunnels.)

[ C ] WILDCARD;

[ idefk, come at me. ]

( You kidding? If the boredom didn't kill me, the smalltalk would. Suck it up, princess, we got a job to finish. )

[Shepard's amused only because she has something to do with her hands, to distract her from the annoyance. Annoyance being her default state, after all-- though most of her attention is focused on the hacking interface of her omni-tool. The software is probably months out of date, but Tali'Zorah never did anything by halves when it came to Shepard's gear.]

( Seconded on the hamster tunnels, though; you're the slowest infiltrator I ever worked with. So far so good on my end, just waiting for you to get there. )

[ She is watching the locals play some idiotic low contact sport with dainty little rackets... ]

I just want to smash someone in the face with a fucking dodgeball. Why is that so hard?

[ Bond with me sports bro. ]

( The guild actually gave us the occasional "find the lost cat" job back home. Some people still find a way to botch it. )

[ And for a brief moment, there's a memory to go with that, of a brunette girl about his age yelling at a cat on a rooftop, something like get down here if you ever want to see a bowl of milk again in any of your nine lives! but Joshua pushes that to the back of his mind, because if there was ever a time to not get distracted - well, this isn't at the top of his list, but it's certainly up there.

The technology here is decidedly Not His Problem. He's playing lookout at the entrance to that ventilation shaft, having managed to wedge himself just far enough inside to escape obvious notice, but just close enough to be ready to get the drop on anyone who gets it in their head to look too closely.

So far, nobody's tried. He's starting to wish someone would. ]

( Entry point is still clear. )

( Uh, if you’re making small talk while drinking, you’re doing it wrong. )

[ awkward social niceties and getting crunch are not things that ought to go together, he knew that long before he was taken in by the Kara Thrace ‘drink away your feelings’ school. The insults don’t phase him at all, though, if anything, there’s amusement reflected back as he squirms his too wide shoulders uthrough the tunnels. ]

( Honestly, you’re not wrong. I'm a pilot, not a covet ops master. ) [ and before the world ended, he was a sports player, not a soldier, but here we are. good thing he was also a secret robot this whole time in between, so the technical part of this will be cake. once he gets through the freaking tunnel. ]

( Almost there. Just make sure I don't get shredded when I drop down. )

[ He had invited her, so she had come. His tinkering is a familiar pattern in the back of her mind -- the place where he lived, where Angel lived, their skills and their thought patterns emblazoned into her like a tattoo. A rune she has not enlivened in months because they had been gone. Angel still is, and the sweeter Ilde who had loved them is nowhere to be found either. And yet, here she is. Because he asked.

As his hands work, her hands work. She makes a thing like some kind of weaving around a hoop of metal. Some discarded ship part that she winds string, fabric, and wire around in patterns that at first perhaps seem haphazard but with study... She always takes the shapes from Nest. Connections she envisions from host to host, from brood to brood. Although at the moment, the pattern she weaves is him. Sam Anders. The steady logical plod of his thoughts as he tinkers with the ship.

His hands to her hands. She sits, unable to ignore him, but certainly trying. ]

[ Idle is the same familiar presence in his mind that she’d been before he slipped into his coma, still as normal now as it was then, as if it were only a few days ago (for him, it was). But what echoes back if him within her is a new chasm, cracked across the foundation of their family, a violent quake that feels endless. He knows she’s trying to push him from her, leave the connection cold, but the broods never worked that way. It’s difficult to blame her, knowing the emptiness, loss, and deafening loneliness that comes with even one of their brood missing, let alone all.

Sam doesn’t know how to mend that between them, the abandonment that had already been such a deep fear and source of bitterness in her. That’s clear between them too, sam never had been good at concealing anything from the others. So he works, because it keeps his mind and his hands busy, and ilde tinkers alongside him. Regardless of how distant they feel, the connection between them feels at peace when they’re together regardless. With a grunt, sam sits up, leaning to the side to miss hitting his head on the low hanging command console he’d been underneath. In his mind, he projects the want for the pliers laid in the tool box on Ilde’s opposite side, a hand held out with a meant ‘please’ for her to pass them. ]

Looks like a dream catcher. [ he says aloud, the image of her design that’d been clear his mind now replicated in front of his actual eyes, rather than borrowed. ] Did you ever have one of those?

[ sam snorts immediately, imagining Annie tossing a ball and any of the natives’ faces. The horror. He’d pay to see it. ]

These people look like a broken nose could kill ‘em. [ it’s a delicate kind of civilization here, prosperous and high class. Golf clapping, no one screaming at the ref or starting fights in the crowd. What’s even the point? ]

Could probably find an empty court somewhere. See if we can convince the locals to play.

[ She hands him what he's after, despite having very little practical application with them. The image is simple, the gesture just as easy. From his hands to hers. It reminds her in a distant, irritating, way of when she and Steven used to run together, syncing heartbeats. When she used to rest with her ear on Ren's chest and sync their breathing. Her expression is sour, not looking at Sam. ]

Is that what they are called?

[ She ask faintly. The Consensus fills in the idea, the image. She picks the metal hoop back up, looking at its strings. ]

I don't expect it to catch anything.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Page 21 of 27

TEST DRIVE :003

one

no bring back the romance

no subject

no subject

sorry fitz take him to dinner first b4 romance

hmmmmmm

no subject

no subject

there, there

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

Sam Anders | Battlestar Galactica | OTA

B

a wildcard - come on and slam

B

no subject

no subject

no subject

Re: a wildcard - come on and slam

no subject